


Close as Brothers

by ladylegsenjolras



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Blood, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 03:48:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2254728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladylegsenjolras/pseuds/ladylegsenjolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Delancey Brothers origin story. Based on a headcanon that they aren't really brothers. Second person Morris' POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close as Brothers

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is also posted on my Tumblr, finchcortes.tumblr.com. Feel free to check it out and see some of my other fics!

Oscar doesn’t deny it when the man asks if the two of you are brothers. The guy buys it, although you aren’t really sure how. Oscar is broader and more fleshed out than you, thirteen years old with the gangly, angular frame to match. His blonde hair and light eyes didn’t match your wavy brown hair and dark eyes. But you keep your mouth shut and step a little closer to him. (Oscar tells you later that if the man knew you weren’t brothers, he wouldn’t have bothered to take you together. You’re very glad he did.)

It had only been a few days since your parents left you, or maybe it had been weeks. They never gave you any hint that they were leaving, you just woke up one morning to an empty house. Their things were all gone, it was as if they had moved overnight and forgotten to wake you up to tell you. Good riddance, you had initially thought. Your father was worthless, and he spent most of his rare hours at home telling you that you were an idiot. Just because you were slow to pick up reading and arithmetic, and your writing was still that of a child’s even as a teenager. But after a few days of wandering throughout the city, you began to realize how dependent you still were. That’s when you met Oscar.

He was two years older than you, but he looked like he could have been much older. He was sitting on the curb when you had been forcibly expelled from a store because a shrill woman had screamed that you were taking food from the shelves and putting them in your pockets.

“Wanna get ‘em back?” he asked. You didn’t really know what you wanted, so you just shrugged. The boy stood up calmly and ducked into a side alley, motioning for you to wait there. When he came back, he held a fist sized rock in his hand. He stepped out to the middle of the street, and after a pause, hurled the stone directly at the storefront window. It shattered, raining broken glass over the goods in the display. “C’mon!” While the people still inside screamed and shielded themselves from broken glass, the other boy had run forward and grabbed as much as his hands could carry. He took off down the street, and you just barely managed to keep up.

You learned that his name was Oscar and he ran away from home because he didn’t care about his family at all. You also learned that he knew how to fight. You learned that last one when he broke someone’s nose for trying to sweep the two of you out of his alley. He taught you how to fight, so you could defend yourself if you ever needed to. You picked up the skill quickly, Oscar was impressed even if he wouldn’t say it. You saw the half-smiles and gleaming eyes that surfaced during your sparring matches, especially when you hit him hard enough to knock him off his feet.

This new job at a newspaper distribution center was boring, but Weisel let you and Oscar work together and he gave you a place to sleep at night, so it wasn’t all bad. Oscar had tried to talk himself into the basement room of the distribution office for the two of you, but Weisel was adamant that you couldn’t sleep there unless you worked there, too. You only had to work early in the morning and then in the evening, you had the rest of the day to do as you pleased. Free time usually consisted of Oscar wandering the city, picking fights, and you following along to help gang up on whatever innocent kid was on the receiving end of Oscar’s boredom. It brought him some kind of joy when he was able to get himself into a real fist fight. You noticed him smiling faintly when the two of you went back to work and Oscar had someone else’s blood staining his clothing.

It was when you were sixteen that you started to notice things were different. You feel Oscar’s eyes on you when you’re counting out papers (slowly, you’re still not very good at counting). It’s like he’s sizing you up for something, but for what, you don’t know. Your walks through this city together have turned quiet, but you feel an electric charge through the air that gives you goosebumps. You were never one for words, so you let the static grow between you. It jumps from your skin whenever Oscar gets close enough to touch you. Sparring with him is the only time both of you can ignore whatever that tension is and get your feelings out without having to say a word. But when the fights end, and he has you pinned to the dirty ground, breathless and grinning, that’s when you get the idea.

Soon you start picking fights with Oscar to get him that close again. His fuse seems to have gotten shorter, so getting him riled up to the point of swinging fists isn’t hard. You can barely suppress the excitement that grows in your chest when he slams down a stack of papers and grabs you by the lapel of your waistcoat. You dodge his attacks easily. You know how to read an opponent; he relies on his brute strength. He gets more and more frustrated with every missed hit. You land a solid punch on his jaw, and that’s when he grabs your arm. His grip feels like he’s trying to break your arm; he’s so seething mad. That’s why the last thing you expect is for him to back you up against a wall and grab your hair with his free hand. He kisses like he fights: violently. It’s all teeth and he’s biting your lower lip and you can’t even breathe or put up a fight. Not like you wanted to.

Maybe the relationship you share isn’t the best. Most of the bruises that litter your skin are from him. But then again, you’ve left your fair share of marks on his body as well. Neither of you even breathe the word “love” around each other. It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. When Oscar climbs into your already too-small bunk at the end of the day, kissing a line down your throat, you couldn’t care about anything else.


End file.
